


You, Him and I

by VisionaryGalaxy



Series: A Thousand Futures of Me and You [29]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, BAMF Stephen Strange, Boys In Love, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Faked Death, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Heavy Angst, IronStrange family, M/M, Secrets, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-08-07 17:57:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16413179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisionaryGalaxy/pseuds/VisionaryGalaxy
Summary: This was not the future Stephen and Tony imagined.Older Tony and Stephen's story from Me, Myself and You. (Can be read separately.)





	1. Contentment

**Author's Note:**

> *Takes deep breath* The response I received on Me, Myself, and You was phenomenal thank you to everyone who commented and enjoyed the story. This is the story of Stephen and Tony from the future and how their situation came to be as well as some aftermath. This first chapter is to just establish their world.  
> I hope to do this story justice, please enjoy :)

   Stephen inhaled deeply through his nose followed by a heavy exhale. His legs were crossed comfortably beneath him while he hovered several inches off the floor, back ramrod straight, hands resting gently on his knees. He had been at it for nearly two hours, mind drifting pleasantly from spell to book to memory. He had reached a state of hyper-awareness finally, the clothes against his body felt like a scratchy wool blanket, the weight of the Eye around his neck seemed a distracting weight, the spasming little pains in his fingers resembled the constant injection of a needle.

   Beyond those irritating distractions was exactly what he had been reaching for. He felt the energy flowing through the Sanctum in dozens of tiny rivers, slipping and tangling around each other as each relic gave off its own aura. With years had come experience and more importantly acceptance, he no longer pushed or pulled against his magic but instead lived with it, mind swirling around, reveling it the excitable uplifting feeling.

   It was one of the few things he could say he enjoyed about his aging self. The rest he put up with much better then Tony, who was prone to complain about the smallest of things these days, not that he minded. For Stephen’s own part the less prevalent injuries from his crash had been steadily revealing themselves as his body aged in the form of new aches and pains, constant throbbing, and weather sensitivity. As much as he detested it, he at least found solace in the growing numbness of his hands as the nerves became overused. They still hurt, but now it was the trembling that got in the way instead of the pain.

   For all that, however, Stephen supposes he won the jack pot when compared to Tony. His husband had his fair share of aging hurts but at least when they went into battle all Stephen needed was his hands, most of the time. Tony, for his part had yet to make the Ironman suit anymore comfortable. Though he had a sneaking suspicion that he was purposely forgetting since instituting their post-battle bubble bath tradition to sooth his hurts.

   “Stephen?”

   He took another deep breath, exhaled quietly. He took his time, slowly detangling himself from the energy flowing through him, regretfully bid it farewell and with each breath allowed his subconscious to return to its usual state of awareness. Everyone knew to wait patiently when he meditated like this, sometimes it took minutes, other times nearly half an hour. Tony had learned his lesson early on that a harsh disruption could get you blasted across the room in a startled heartbeat. Coming back to himself only took a few moments this time, he had been expecting the disturbance.

   Stephen finally peeled back his eyes to see Peter standing there, a soft grin on his face as he waited. He had a meeting today with some of the board members at Stark industries for a personal project. In theory Tony could simply snap his fingers and it would be done, but Peter had been insistent that he go through the process like anyone else. Tony had pouted but had been secretly quite proud. As it was Peter was dressed to impress in a simple grey suit, hair combed back, a watch, secretly holding his suit adorning his wrist. Stephen felt something indescribable bubble up as he looked at Peter who had fallen securely into their laps after May passed away. He used to be so worried about failing her, Tony sharing a similar fear, but now looking up at Peter all grown up he thought they did pretty well considering.

   He had grown to be nearly as tall as Stephen after a final growth spurt much to Tony’s irritation, his baby faced had faded with that same spurt and was currently sporting a small shadow, just light enough not to look unprofessional. Of course, the biggest change, which Stephen sincerely wish wasn’t there, was the sadness always lurking just beneath the surface despite their best efforts. Really, after how much he lost, Stephen wasn’t surprised. He was just grateful they had the opportunity to chase it away from time to time. Like now.

   “Stephen?” he called again, brow furrowing. It had taken forever to break him of his polite habit of calling them by their titles.

   “I’m here.” He answered, his voice scratchy from disuse and dryness.

   Peter relaxed and grabbed the water that had been sitting on the ground since Stephen began his meditation. He took it gratefully, drinking half in a long swig.

   “Are you almost ready to leave?” Stephen asked,

   Peter flushed, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Er…yeah. I was wondering if you could portal me there?”

   Stephen raised an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to take a car. Something about portals being too unprofessional and showy?”

   “Well…I…I did but-” Peter was stammering and Stephen shook his head slightly, amused. Some things never changed. “Tony never sent the car back.”

   Stephen let out an unimpressed sigh. “I told you to ask Pepper for the car. You know how forgetful Tony is.”

   “I know, sorry. But he showed up when I was asking Pepper and said he would handle it.”

   “Its fine.” Stephen assured. “Now you’ll know better at least.”

   Peter laughed a little, still embarrassed. “Thanks. I’ll take the car home after the meeting.”

   Stephen knew what that really meant was he would take the car to visit Aunt May. He was going dutifully at the same time every week to bring flowers to her grave, to that of his parents, even three years later. He preferred to go alone and while it made Stephen uneasy he knew better then to offer his company. This week, however, the meeting ran during his usual visiting time, so he would go directly there after.

   “Where do you want me to let you out?” Stephen asked, as the Cloak lowered him to the ground, its edges curling under him a little for a gentle landing.

   “Can we do Tony’s office? I don’t want to draw attention.”

   “Alright.” He conjured the portal, felt his fingers spasm a little. It wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world to start using the sling ring again, he mused. It might hurt less with his weakened hands to have something to support the magic flowing through. “Good luck. Try not to be nervous, your idea is great, and they would be stupid to turn it down.”

   Peter’s eyes lit up happily. Stephen knew he was nervous, but he also knew how passionate he was about this project and few people could turn down the charismatic Peter Parker. It also helped that the board would never say no to Tony’s essentially adopted son. “Thank you. I’ll text you when its over!”

   Stephen watched as he disappeared through the portal and it came to a close behind him. The Cloak lifted off his shoulder and hovered next to him, its bottom swaying slightly across the floor as it swung a little. Stephen rolled his eyes, knew exactly what it wanted and waved if off with a sigh. The Cloak _whooshed_ away, heading for the large bay window where it would curl up like a cat in the sunlight. Wong had taken to reprimanding Stephen for allowing it to do that, noting that it was only speeding along the aging process.

   It was true of course. The Cloak had begun to show its own wilting age as time dragged on. The edges were fraying, the strings getting caught and pulled by its useless tugging, its colour had been steadily fading, and its entire demeanor had shifted with Stephen’s own age, becoming more reserved and less excitable. Yet, Stephen knew the Cloak intimately by now, and although he would never admit it to Wong he also sensed that it was tired, very very tired.

   When Stephen went into his meditative state and reached the point of connecting with the relics the first he had done it with was the Cloak, and from those experiences he learned just how weary this thousands of years old Cloak was of life. It carried on as is expected but it was increasingly obvious that it did not seek to drag its life out unnecessarily, not anymore. So, when it wanted to curl up in the sun, he said nothing and allowed it.

   For himself, Stephen made his way down the stairs slowly. He glanced down at the small discrete watch on his wrist, noted that it was nearly one and that meant Christine would be arriving soon, barring any emergencies from either of them. Stephen focused on making them tea, perfected to each of their tastes after years of doing this, he hardly had to think about it anymore. Instead he found himself reflecting, as he was prone to do these days.

   He knew the amount of time spent in his head worried Tony sometimes, warned him that he was needed in the present and not tucked away in the circling recesses of his mind, where it was so easy to become lost. Stephen couldn’t blame him, in fact he envied Tony who was able to block his thoughts so easily, be in the here and now. Still, Stephen believes it is only natural for himself, he had never expected to make it this far, never thought he would have this life and he found himself constantly in a state of awe by it. He’s pretty sure its another sign of how old he was getting. Though he knew it was ironic really, he wasn’t that old in conventional terms, but as he had described to Tony many times, his metaphysical self was aged beyond words, and his magic sapped him of his youth faster then average.

   There was a quiet knock, which sounded throughout the Sanctuary in dizzying echoes. He smiled lightly and sent the tea to the sitting room with a wave of his hand. Feeling relaxed and calm from his meditation he walked slowly to the door already feeling a familiar bubble of anticipation move through him, buried beneath his usual stoic exterior.

   He swung the door open to find Christine, smiling with a small backpack over her shoulder. She was wearing scrubs, and her hair was tied back in a harsh pony tail, revealing she had come straight from work.

   “Finally, Stephen, I thought you might have been napping. Old age finally catching up to you.” She said it with an easy laugh, eyes soft with the joke.

   Stephen snorted back, letting her into the room. It was a common banter between them, when in reality they were both beginning to feel the effects. Christine’s hair had begun to grey, not as extensively as Stephen’s own which held a multitude of streaks, but enough to be noticeable. Lines ran across her forehead and the edges of her eyes, her mouth, but instead of diminishing her natural beauty it only turned it into something softer, wiser.

   “I’m still young enough to make a black hole combust on itself all by myself.” He snarked back, referring to the minor emergency last week when a black hole tried to form in Antarctica, he didn’t mention that it had been created by a confused and scared child.

   “Show off.” She muttered, leading the way to the sitting room, where the teas sat in their respective places, next to the armchairs. She sat in hers with a tired groan, happy to take the weight off her exhausted feet, and closing her eyes for a moment.

   Stephen took the opportunity to examine her, like he always did. She was exhausted he knew, but he wouldn’t ask why, the engagement ring on her finger answer enough. He sipped his tea and took in her aura, one of content and it made his heart swell.

   They met at the same time every week, they sipped tea, sometimes ate food, and would talk for nearly an hour. It would be about the inanest things usually but there were two topics that neither dared to venture near. The first was the man who had put the ring on her finger. It had nothing to do with jealousy, Stephen was more then happy with his own husband, and it wasn’t awkwardness on either of their parts. No, it was recognition that Christine wanted to keep her fiancé as far from magic and Stephen’s world as possible. He understood completely and had no desire to put the added stress on her shoulders. They were both happy where they were and there was no reason to change it with pointless details.

   The second ran along a similar vein. Stephen didn’t want to talk about his work, or superheroes, or aliens, or alternate dimensions. This one hour a week was his time to connect with his past, to view it through the trusted lens of a woman who had such an incredible impact on his life, for better or for worse. He could never describe how grateful he was for her friendship now.

   They had stumbled back into each other’s lives after a horribly destructive battle in which both Stephen and Peter had nearly died. She had been his ER nurse and had taken charge the moment she recognized him. Afterwards, when he was fully conscious they had talked for hours on end at the conclusion of her shift and they agreed that there was no reason not to be in each other’s lives, even if it was to chat once a week. And they had ever since, about everything from her work, to his family, to their past, and it was nice. Stephen no longer held the same bitterness in his heart that used to flare when she spoke of their old profession, and she had forgiven him a long time ago for his less then descent conduct.

   She had proved invaluable in the end as well. Whenever something happened, and Stephen wasn’t able to handle it with his magic, when Tony or Peter got hurt Christine was there to take charge. She was the only reason Peter’s identity hadn’t been revealed to a room of doctors, or his regenerative abilities noticed.

   “You’re in one of those moods today.” She commented with a little smile.

   “Hmm, mood?”

   She nodded and sipped her tea, she let out a satisfied sigh before looking back at him. “Yes, all quiet and calm like you just had a hit of morphine.”

   Stephen grinned. “Close. I meditated for awhile this morning.”

   She rolled her eyes; her skepticism still hadn’t faded after all these years and it was oddly refreshing. “Whatever works for you. Have you and Tony come to an agreement about the anniversary trip yet?”

   Stephen shook his head in the negative and quickly turned the subject toward her work. It had been their anniversary last week and Tony was insistent that they needed a break, but as always Stephen was hesitant to abandon the Sanctuary for too long and had thus far fielded his suggestions. It wouldn’t last forever but he was in no rush, they had time.

   Their conversation continued smoothly in its typical fashion. It had become something akin to therapy for them both as they slowly unwound and loosened in each other’s presence. They took their time sipping tea, occasionally laughing, smirking in conspiracy, and other times quiet in acceptance. Once the tea was gone, they both allowed the conversation to fade out naturally until Christine would offer a sad little smile and politely take her leave.

   Without fail Stephen would walk her to the door with the promise of next week. Once the door was closed and the Sanctuary’s silence pressed in again, Stephen found himself all the more relaxed and eager for study. This routine was rarely disrupted, and he had long ago began joking that the ever-present threats took the day off just for them. Whatever the reason, he was grateful, it was nice to have some predictability in his day, even if it was just once a week.

   Stephen drifted back to the sitting room. Sun was streaming in through the windows, leaving the room comfortably warm and cozy and Stephen couldn’t help but smile as he walked by the book shelves slowly. He let a hand run along the spines while he scanned the titles, looking for something that might pertain to his current work. This had always been his favourite room in the Sanctuary, uncluttered by relics, spacious, and with an obvious touch of multiple people occupying the space.

   He paused at a dark blue book, nearly back in essence. There was silvery Sanskrit writing on its spine and as he tapped his finger against it in consideration he inspected those next to it, pursing his lips. Finally, he tugged it gently off the shelf and into his waiting hands. The volume was immeasurably old but showed signs of Wong’s careful preservation spells. Despite that as he flipped it open it was to fine, delicate, yellowed pages of thin parchment, painstakingly sewn together. Smiling Stephen leaned in and inhaled his favourite scent in the world. It was musty to be sure, but he swore when he closed his eyes he could take in the old parchment and slight tang of ink. Tony often made fun of him for his acute nose, claimed he had to be making it up, Stephen didn’t mind, he knew what he loved after all.

   Finding the book worthy of his time, Stephen made his way to his armchair and settled comfortably into its cushioned embrace. Tony was due back in about two hours, assuming all went well at the Avenger compound, which was never a sure thing. He was determined to work until then, knowing he would have little chance once his whirlwind of a husband returned home, not that he would have it any other way. Stephen carefully flipped to the first page with a wave of his hand, afraid to let his trembling fingers handle the aged paper and risking a tear.

 

 

   An hour and a half later the opening of the front door and unmistakable clunking of the Ironman suit announced Tony’s arrival. Stephen didn’t move, determined to finish the paragraph he was slowly translating. Still, his listened in amusement as Tony approached from behind his chair, attempting to sneak and failing miserably. The man never learned no matter how many times Stephen explained that he was aware of every presence in his Sanctum. So, he didn’t even flinch when Tony suddenly rounded his chair to place a quick peck to the scar on Stephen’s face.

   “Hey love.” Tony greeted.

   Stephen didn’t look up, refusing to lose his place.

   Tony blew a sigh of exasperation and Stephen struggled to keep a smile off his lips. He rounded the chair fully and kneeled next to it, his hands coming to rest on Stephen’s thighs like a puppy begging for attention. Unperturbed by his lack of response, Tony gently grabbed the hand resting on Stephen’s lap and brought it to his lips and began kissing along his fingers, his palm, moving up his wrist.

   He finally flicked his gaze to Tony’s who grinned in triumph. Stephen gave up and closed the book, sending it back to its place with a wave. He offered Tony a little grin, twisted his hand to grip Tony’s and tugged him forward for a hard kiss to his lips. As was his habit, Tony’s free hand came up to cup the scarred cheek delicately as he inhaled into the rhythmic movement of their mouths.

   Tony pulled away after a moment, eyes bright. “Much better.” He declared, and Stephen rolled his eyes. Tony shifted to sit more comfortably on the arm of Stephen’s chair, his hand coming to rest along the back of it while he gazed down at him.

   “How was your day so far?” Tony asked.

   Stephen shook his head. “Uneventful. You?”

   Tony pouted slightly. “I wish. Rogers’ wants to change up the training regime for the new Avengers again. Thinks having it more regimented would help with team building, communication, yada yada.”

   “I assume you explained why that is a terrible idea.”

   Tony drew out an annoyed sigh, “no, I _compromised.”_

   Stephen laughed at the disdain on Tony’s face. “Wow, who would have thought the great Tony Stark could learn how to work with others.” He teased.

   “It’s the burden I must bear.” He claimed dramatically, eyes rolling up toward the heavens.

   “Right. While I’m sure it was very difficult for you to handle, you wouldn’t happen to remember what you forgot about today?” Stephen asked, drawing his attention.

   It was amusing to watch the gears turn behind Tony’s eyes as he frantically tried to figure out what Stephen was referring to. He could practically see as he mentally discarded important dates, began filtering through recent conversation. Then finally, his eyes lit up and he looked down at Stephen with wide-eyes. “Shit.”

   Stephen patted his leg gently as guilt slid onto his expression. “Its fine Tony, I gave him a portal to the meeting. He wasn’t mad or anything, just remember to let Pepper handle that stuff ok?”

   Reassured, he quickly turned sheepish, a hand rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced away. “Right, of course. Have you heard from him yet?”

   “No, he wanted to visit May and his parents first. He probably just forgot to text me.”

   Tony nodded along but he was already sliding his phone from his pocket and tapping away at it. Stephen didn’t need to ask to know that he was checking to see whether the board had approved the project, though there really shouldn’t be any question.

   “You know he would want to tell us himself.” Stephen commented.

   Tony waved it away dismissively, “we can fake it.”

   Stephen chose not to mention how wrong that was, knowing it would go right over his head. A moment later, a soft smile graced his lips and Stephen watched patiently as pride bloomed within Tony. “He got it.”

   “Of course, he did.” Stephen said easily.

   “You know what this means.” Tony’s eyes were bright with excitement. “Celebration!”

   “We aren’t supposed to know yet.”

   Tony immediately sagged, his pout making a reappearance. “Spoil sport.”

   He rolled his eyes. “Its my job apparently.”

   Tony opened his mouth to respond when a loud grumbling came from Stephen’s stomach making them both frown. “You didn’t eat lunch?” Tony asked, brow furrowed.

   “I had tea.”

   Tony shook his head in disapproval. It wasn’t uncommon for Stephen to forget to eat or drink when he was studying, it usually stole all his attention and only once he put down the book he would realize he was hungry and parched.

   “I’m ordering takeout then. What do you want?”

   Stephen leaned back into his chair and smiled at Tony. “Surprise me.”

   His lover took one of his hands again, placed a kiss there before leaning in and placing an equally gentle one to his scar with soft eyes and a little squeeze. “I’m on it. One three-star meal coming up!” He hopped off the couch and made his way to the kitchen where they kept takeout menus on standby. Certainly not the healthiest option, but wonderful in a pinch.

   For his part Stephen watched as Tony made his escape. Eyes on the slight limp in his leg from a battle three days ago that got him thrown first into a building and then into a china shop, it had been amusing and Tony was fine, but Stephen knew better then to take his word for it. All the same, he appeared to be healing nicely, bouncing back as quickly as he used to. Unlike Stephen his age wasn’t prominent on the outside of his body, only hidden aches beneath the surface. His hair was beginning to pepper in grey but was nothing compared to Stephen’s streaks, and the wrinkles seemed to dissolve into his face so naturally that it didn’t take from his youth. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit bitter, not that he’s ever say it.

   Tony reappeared in the doorway, a sweet smile on his lips as he realized Stephen had been staring at where he disappeared. He walked over slowly and put a hand out to Stephen. He took it and allowed his lover to tug him over to the larger sofa and lay him down. Tony had never been a cuddler when they first got together, but as the years gone by, he seemed to crave contact more and more often. It was never surprising really, considering how tactile the man was usually with people, with his work.

   Stephen laid down on the couch, stretching his long limbs with a satisfied groan, only for it to be cut off in a huff of air as Tony settle on top of him suddenly, straddling his hips and still grinning.

   “We aren’t having sex on the couch.” Stephen stated immediately, resting his hands-on Tony’s thighs.

   Tony tisked at him and shook his head in mock innocence. “Who ever said anything about sex?”

   Stephen raised an eyebrow. “Nobody, but after all these years I know you well enough to know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

   Tony leaned forward some, his hands sliding smoothly up his chest, pressing a harder so Stephen could feel it through his many layers. His clever fingers found the opening of his wrap, a subtle bit usually tucked away and he slid a hand into the gap until his warm hand touched Stephen’s skin. A little smirk played on Tony’s lips.

   Stephen smiled at him good-naturedly. “I love you but we both know Peter and Ned will be here soon, not to mention the take-out you ordered, and I am not indulging your exhibitionist whims today.”

   Tony let out a heavy sigh but instead of protesting he sunk down until he was laying comfortably on Stephen’s chest. “like I said, spoil sport.” He muttered.

   Stephen only laughed, bringing his hands up to rub over Tony’s back in the soothing way the man loved. Tony had tucked himself into the crease where his neck met his shoulder and his hot breath was puffing onto the skin and making him shiver. Bit by bit Tony relaxed into his embrace, and the exhaustion that Stephen had seen lurking in his eyes started to make an appearance as he glanced down and saw his eyes drooping heavily.

   “Really rough day huh?”

   “The usual bullshit. You know how I hate politics, and meetings, and pretty much any administration.” Tony admitted quietly.

   Stephen hummed in agreement, used to Tony’s exasperation regarding the Avengers as the members grew. They sat in companionable silence until Tony’s hand began roaming again, but this time Stephen didn’t protest, knowing the intent behind the movement. It slid up to Stephen’s neck and he strained his head back while Tony gently tugged at the chain there until the ring popped out from beneath his tunic, its black metallic design flashing slightly in the light.

   Stephen had stopped wearing his wedding band on his finger about a year ago, finding it painful on his usually swollen joints, and distracting during difficult spells. He had compromised with a chain around his neck, and whenever it was just them Tony liked to pull it out from its hiding place. His lover had a subtly possessive streak though he would never admit it, but Stephen didn’t mind in this case, he liked having proof that he was married to the love of his life, just as he enjoyed seeing the sister ring adorning Tony’s finger.

   Tony played with it absently while his other hand twisted his own ring around and around his finger. Stephen bent down a bit to press a kiss to Tony’s hair, inhaling the mechanical, peppery smell that was all him. “I love you.” He murmured.

   Tony turned his own head to press a kiss into Stephen’s neck, then up a little to the edge of his scar, ever attentive. “I love you too.”


	2. Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fatal mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Squints at calendar* four months...that can't be right.

   The next morning Stephen tiredly made his way down the wood stairs of the Sanctum, grimacing at the early morning chill seeping into his bones as he did so. He was clad only in his boxers and a thin gold silken robe, one of Tony’s ridiculous indulgences, but was surprisingly comfortable. It stopped about midway down his calf, leaving goosebumps to rise, he hadn’t wanted to stumble around for pajama pants and risk waking Tony, who could sleep for at least another hour. The years had certainly helped his sleep schedule.

   As Stephen reached the bottom he paused, eyes flitting around the landing, a carefully constructed list flying through his mind as his eyes fell upon each relic, reassuring himself nothing had gone amiss last night, a familiar habit now. The Cloak hovered impatiently next to him, clearly wanting him to get dressed so it could hang comfortably form his shoulders, but Stephen had no intention of rushing.

   He made his way to the kitchen, calling out to FRIDAY so she would turn up the heat in the Sanctum. Both had been installed over the protests of an unimpressed Wong when Tony had moved in, claiming that just because it looked like a museum didn’t mean it needed the Wifi connection of one. It had been an amusing argument and the only one Wong had ever lost to date.

   Voices caught Stephen’s attention and he grinned. Walking into the kitchen his heart warmed at the sight before him. Peter and Ned sat across from one another at the counter, a series of blueprints and spreadsheets laid out in front of them. That wasn’t what they were working on, however, Ned’s laptop open to recent apartment listings. They had been looking for a place for awhile now, and Stephen couldn’t help but feel an inkling of pride flowing through him. Peter didn’t know it yet, but Tony had already bought him a place, about midway from the Tower and the Sanctuary, heart of the city and would present him with it after the celebrations over the board’s approval of his project.

   “What are you boys up to?” Stephen gave them fair warning as he moved inside, the Cloak flying over to drape itself on the back of Peter’s chair.

   There was brief scrambling, closing the laptop, anxious glances. Stephen suppressed a laugh, Peter was nervous to tell them his plans.

   “Nothing!” Peter said quickly, looking up with a blush staining his cheeks.

   Stephen hummed non-committedly as he went about starting his tea and Tony’s coffee. He discovered he found a strange kind of solace in routine these days, predictability was surprisingly nice when life was often chaos.

   “What are the plans for today?”

   There was shifting, then Peter spoke up, sounding far more composed. “I was going to hang around here for the day, work on the details for the project. The board wants a mock budget drawn up for my idea and I figure the sooner the better.”

   Stephen’s lips twitched, ever amazed at the strange mix of young adult casualness with professional responsibility. “And you Ned?”

   “I have a job interview then I’ll probably come help out Peter if that’s alright Dr. Strange.”

   Stephen nodded, knew exactly what job interview he was talking about even if Ned didn’t. Tony would never learn not to meddle. “Of course, just ring ahead like always.” It was protocol, if Stephen or Peter didn’t answer then it was best he avoided the Sanctum until the threat was dealt with.

   Stephen finished the preparations and turned around, found Peter and Ned actually looking over the blueprints now. The sense of domesticity never failed to leave Stephen with a sense of contentment he had once feared he would never feel, of course that didn’t stop him from hating how it came to be. Peter losing May had been crushing beyond belief, for everyone, and Stephen would forever grateful he had Ned there to support him in ways he and Tony never could.

   Leaning against the counter, Stephen let the silence of the morning fall over him. In moments like these, when the air was inexplicable still, when his mind was still hazy from sleep, it wasn’t all that difficult to tap into the energy around him, without meditating. He breathed deeply, let his eyes fall closed and listened.

   There wasn’t much to hear beyond the bubbling eager energy of the relics, the groaning content of the Sanctuary, the bright spot of life indicating beating hearts. All of this was routine, and Stephen duly ignored it, he was about to tune back into the present when he heard something else, just whisper. His lips crooked down in a frown, it could easily be one of the more obscure relics or left-over energy from a battle a few days ago, but it could also be new and dangerous.

   Several minutes later, however, when his kettle had begun to sing, he hadn’t been able to identify anything. It had been so faint and brief that it seemed nothing more then a hump in the expected orchestra that was the Sanctuary. As he focused on pouring both his and Tony’s morning drinks, he shrugged it off. He had learned over the years that while being alert was important, over reacting to every little thing was equally stupid.

   Footsteps sounded in the other room, sluggish and dragging, indicating Tony’s arrival. Stephen didn’t move, kept his gaze on the cups as the man entered.

   “Morning Peter, Ned. Do you guys ever sleep?”

   There was a chorus of good mornings and what Stephen imagined to be the rolling of eyes, then arms wrapped firmly around his waist and he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips, feeling the warmth of Tony’s body pressed along his back.

   “Good morning,” came Tony’s muffled voice, pressed into his shoulder.

   Stephen tapped the arms and picked up Tony’s coffee. He stepped back and Stephen turned to face him, “good morning.” He replied handing the man his caffeine.

   Tony greedily took the cup and inhaled a deep whiff of the heady scent, eyes falling closed on a heavy sigh, “ah my ambrosia. Thank you.”

   Stephen ran a hand through the man’s messy hair, noting the fact he hadn’t changed, still clad in PJ pants and an old tank top, his eyes were squinting up at Stephen as if reading his mind.

   “I didn’t forget,” he stated grumpily.

   Stephen hummed, a smirk playing around his lips. Tony had a meeting, and while he often enjoyed being fashionably (irritably) late for the company, this was government and Avengers centered. Late wasn’t exactly acceptable, though right on time, down to the second, seemed to be Tony’s way of pushing everyone’s buttons.

   But he didn’t mention that, instead moving his hand down to rest on the man’s hip, “how is the leg feeling?”

   Tony took a big gulp of coffee, wincing at the burn, “good as knew.”

   Which meant functional. Stephen knew better then to push, plus it was bound to only get worse for their aging muscles.

   “Tony, do you think you could take a look at these before you leave?”

   He turned and walked over to the table, eyes glancing across the blueprints, “Sure, just let me get dressed and all that first.”

   A grin lit up Peter’s expression and Stephen could tell by the look in Tony’s eyes that it still had the ability to spear him in the chest with its innocence and excitement. For Stephen’s part, he picked up his tea and wandered off into the sitting room. He took the chair that was reserved for him in the mornings, situated next to the small window, and relaxed back into it, sipping at the warm liquid.

   The morning went on behind him. None of them (except Peter depending on the day) were morning people and had long since worked out schedules where interaction was minimal until everyone was awake and ready for the day. Ned left not twenty minutes later, and he heard Tony disappear upstairs to shower and change. Stephen didn’t move from his spot.

   Thirty more minutes after that and familiar hands slid onto his shoulders from behind his chair. Stephen raised one of his own to grip his, ignoring the twinge as his fingers spasmed.

  “I’m heading out.”

   “When will you be back?”

   Tony let out a low sigh, “probably not until three.”

   Stephen squeezed a little, Tony’s patience for meetings of all sorts but especially government had only gotten worse over the years.

   “What are you going to do?”

   Stephen leaned his head back, looked up at Tony who smiled down at him lightly, “studying, working, a dimension or two I think.”

   There was an almost imperceptible tightening around Tony’s eyes, but he just nodded. Stephen knew it had nothing to do with a lack of trust or belief in his abilities and everything to do with the devastatingly human anxiety and fear that was a loved one rushing into danger.

   Stephen had thought they would both grow used to it in a few years, but they never did. Their lives were filled to bursting with things looking to end it early, and it was naïve to thing that possibility could ever not make you go cold.

   “Be careful?” Tony requested, his free hand stroking the fine line of his scar.

   “Always, I’ll see you,” never see you later, no promises you can’t guarantee.

   Tony leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips, goatee scratching the side of his nose and making him huff out a quick laugh. He offered one quick smile, squeezed his hand and was gone, heading for the door where he would step into his suit and take off.

\---

   Hours later and Stephen found himself in the study, eyes squinting at the tiny, complicated script, translating the symbols. Across from him, with blueprints sprawled across the floor in front of the fireplace was Peter. He had come in shortly after Stephen and begun in working in silence, a habit that had started not long after May passed.

   Peter hadn’t liked being alone. As a result, he had taken into slipping in the room and either reading a book or curling up on the couch, staring into the flames. Stephen never said a word, didn’t ask questions, never asked him to leave and slowly he began spending more and more time there, studying, sitting, working. It was nice, there was an air of comradery and Stephen suspected it was in those quiet evenings that their relationship had begun to thrive.

   “Stephen?”

   He glanced up, blinking rapidly as he did so, trying to shake the symbols from his head, “yes?”

   Peter was biting his lip, fidgeting with the watch on his wrist, and glancing anywhere but at him. He was nervous and Stephen was pretty sure he knew why, so he carefully rolled his head, stretching his neck, focusing on the here and now, all the while feeling the usual pull in his head.

   “Spit it out Pete.”

   He relaxed at the playful tone, finally meeting his eyes, “I was wondering…about the board meeting…”

   He could see the insecurity in Peter’s eyes. The kid (he would always be a kid to Stephen) had been working on this for so long and he wanted to know he had earned it himself. It was hard, being adopted both officially and through a mentorship by Tony Stark, one of the greatest minds and heroes in the world. It was an ever-present shadow, and even if Peter didn’t resent it, he still wanted to establish himself on his own merits.

   “You want to know how much involvement Tony had with the agreement to accept your project.”

   Peter grimaced but nodded.

   Stephen inclined his head toward the chair in front of him, “come have a seat.”

   He didn’t hesitate, rising gracefully to his feet and coming to sit, posture immediately straightening, hands gripping the arms. Stephen had to stifle a smile, this had always been their preferred arrangement whenever they were having a serious discussion. It was important to both Stephen and Tony, that Peter feel like an equal.

   Stephen steepled his hands together, resting them carefully just beneath his chin as he watched Peter, who had that nervous expression in his eyes. He hoped he could wipe it away.

   “Tony had absolutely no input regarding the acceptance of the project, Pepper and I made sure of it.”

   His expression lit up, his entire body slumping in relief, unfortunately Stephen wasn’t done.

   “But there was the influence that even he couldn’t help. Peter, they know who you are and of course they know how Tony is. That certainly affected their decision.”

   Peter nodded, the light not having dimmed, though his grin turned sheepish, “yeah, I guess that is pretty obvious. No, way around it really.”

   Stephen shrugged, “its true. But if they doubted the project, they would have only commissioned temporary funding until there was a working prototype. The fact that they went all in means they saw its merit _despite_ who you are. Now all you have to do is prove it to them.”

   Determination slipped into his eyes, “I can do that, maybe I can ask Tony to let me work on the offsite base so I can…”

   Stephen found Peter’s words, even as he rattled on, fading from his ears while his entire posture tensed. He tried to focus back in, wanted to hear what he had to say but there was a raw, creeping sensation moving across his skin, an uncomfortable prickling, signalling something was wrong. Despite himself, his eyes slipped closed, listening. _Invasion_ , the Sanctuary warned.

   “Stephen?”

   His eyes flew open just as there was a sudden crashing of glass from upstairs, the distinct sound of several heavy feet hitting the ground. In a heartbeat, Stephen was standing, a familiar weight landing around his neck, the Eye claiming its place.

   “Peter, call Wong.”

   Stephen was out of the study, pausing only to put a protection lock on the room, before he was running for the stairs, the Cloak meeting him halfway and settling eagerly on his shoulders. Peter would stay in the office, though it would grate on his nerves as always. It had taken a long time to make him and Tony understand that for all their abilities, magic existed on another plane and it was better they weren’t there to get in the way.

   Stephen was only just reaching the top of the stair when he saw the first one. Instinct made him pause, his mind supplying only the word _child_ before it was grinning and revealing a long row of razor-sharp teeth, its mouth twisting obscenely wide for its small face. It was no taller then a three-year old toddler, its limbs equally as stunted. Luckily, Stephen knew exactly what it was, the sickly green glow of its eyes giving it away as it began to scramble toward him, faster then would be expected.

   It was an Agthra. A species that could only cross dimensions for a short amount of time and was one of six origins for human tales of elves and hobbits. Unlike those stories, however, this creature was brutally strong despite its size and as it came nearer, Stephen had but one proper defence. The mirror dimension was the only reasonable option, its strength could snap Stephen’s bones with a flex of its finger, while its origins made it somewhat resistant to magic.

   The mirror dimension would hold them for the thirty-three minutes in which it could exist in this realm before either dying or returning to its home. It was easy, as it came within a foot to push it in. Yet, Stephen wasn’t stupid, and the Sanctuary was screaming at him with the sheer number coming through an open portal. They were attacking on mass, with obvious intention of retrieving a relic.

   Stephen ran for storage room forty-six.

   Unfortunately, what he found couldn’t be managed by a simple dimensional transference. He had expected a hunting of party of perhaps ten or fifteen, an already excessive amount of their species, it turned out, however, he had severely underestimated how badly they wanted the relic. Before him, tumbling in wave after wave from a small portal hanging nearly five feet in the air were the Agthra, nearly thirty of them, scrambling and crawling over each other.

   His arrival went unnoticed, a small mercy, as they fought to reach the door at the far end of the hallway. Stephen knew exactly what they wanted and how much danger they would all be in if they succeeded. There was only one thing for it then, get their attention.

   But first, to deal with the portal. Stephen focused in on the swirling green, stretched his arms out in front of him, sending out his energy, mingling with that of the Sanctuary until he could feel the edges of it as his fingertips, even as far away as he was.

   From there it was a fairly straight forward procedure, he began the painstaking work of closing it, tugging and pulling at its edges, infusing it with enough of his own energy to cancel out its throbbing power. He managed to close it about halfway when there was a sudden, horrific screeching from the creatures who finally saw him.

   A bead of sweat spilled down Stephen’s forehead and with a hard grunt his clenched his fingers into fists, brought them in tightly to his chest, then spread them wide, fingers splayed. With a sickening squeeze in his lungs, the portal collapsed in on itself, cutting one of the Agthra brutally in half, its blood spraying across the hardwood.

   The screeching reached a crescendo, Stephen let his energy guide him and then the hallway was spinning, being manipulated by his mind, making the small army of creatures tumble around and around, while Stephen’s Cloak held him steady. A smirk slid on to his lips unbidden, only for it to disappear in a pained gasp, as one of the stupid little creatures got too close and dug its clawed fingers into his foot, tugging him with a hard-enough jerk to make even the Cloak lose its grip for a moment.

   Stephen fell against the wood, kicking at its ugly face, even as others began latching on to his limbs. With a cry of frustration, he summoned his whip, its appearance startling them back for a moment, which was all he needed.

   The Cloak drew him up and off the ground, settling him solidly on his feet. He ran, not bothering to look back and see if he was being followed, he knew he was. Their screeching and scrambling making a chaotic racket as he sprinted toward the conveniently hidden dimensions. There was a door that opened to a desert which he had every intention of depositing them into, or at least as many as he could trick.

   He was just going past the stair case when something hit him hard in the back, gripping at his neck and hair and making him cry out in surprise. With a crash he rolled to the side in an attempt to dislodge the little shit only to be shoved hard to the side by more of those stubby hands. The push itself was enough for Stephen to feel a rib crack as he broke through the old wooden railing and was suddenly airborne. The Cloak, which had been wrestling with the one on his back was a moment too late and Stephen fell hard to the floor, the air being knocked from his lungs even as he tried to gasp at the pain rocketing through his hands.

   He didn’t think, he rolled and lifted his hands just in time to summon shield which deflected the avalanche of snarling Agthra falling after him. Stephen used one to summon the mirror dimension, it didn’t last long, one of his fingers was clearly broken and for once he was grateful for the nerve damage. Still, he only managed to let in twelve or so before it collapsed leaving him surrounded by ten of over-powered little hobbits.

   Stephen got to his feet painfully, feeling the aching in his chest and spasms of pain in his back as he did so. These ones were weary, creating a loose horseshoe around him, that could only help Stephen.

   “Awahaearae aias aiat?” The one closest to him lifted its clawed hands as it snarled out the question. It didn’t take a genius to decipher, they wanted the relic, still sequestered away upstairs.

   Stephen was considering how long he could delay the fuckers, they probably only had fifteen minutes left, when the opening of the door sent everyone’s heads swivelling, “Stephen?”

   Peter was standing in the doorway of the office, staring wide-eyed at the gathering before him. Before Stephen could get a word out, the creatures like was massive brain, launched themselves at him. In that instant Stephen found himself both grateful for the boy’s quick reflexed and angry at his inability to cower in the face of something stronger then him. Because while he did get out of the way, it was the _wrong_ way. He shot a web and flung himself to the top of the staircase, effectively leaving behind the spelled safe room.

   Stephen summoned duel whips in an instant, immediately lashing out at the creatures and doing his best to maim instead of kill. From above Peter was trying to web up the mass climbing over each other to get to the top of the stairs.

   Stephen wished he could blame his focus on the creatures in front of him, on the pain shooting through him and increasing in his skull, blame the energy and information being fed to him from the Sanctuary, but in the end, he knew he had nobody to blame but himself, when there was renewed screeching from above.

   Stephen’s head shot up and the Cloak was already popping off his shoulders, but it was already too late. More of the creatures rose up behind Peter, who for the first time Stephen could remember, hadn’t sensed them with his abilities and so didn’t realize until he was being grabbed harshly by the strong hands. There was a sickening crack when Peter was punched in the back, then was tossed like a ragdoll down the stairs and into the pile of waiting Agthra who were yelling in victory.

   Everything in Stephen went still, the Sanctuary screamed in his ears, the Cloak dived into the writhing mass. Every feeling, every sound became intensified until all he was aware of was his own breathing and the beating of his heart going off like a gunshot in his chest.

   He stopped. He made everything stop. There was a pulse from around his throat, the center of his chest, a flash of startling green light and just like that the creatures were gone. It was as if they were never there, the broken banister gone, the scratches and debris disappeared.

   But Peter. _Oh God Peter_.

   Stephen was by his side in an instant. He was flat on his back, covered in a sickening array of scratches and bruises but that wasn’t what was sending waves of sickening horror through him, “Peter? Talk to me.”

   A quiet whimper escaped shaking lips and Stephen wanted to weep. He didn’t, his mind settling to the headspace of be calm, fix this. Peter’s hand shifted and Stephen immediately held it down, “Don’t move,” he commanded.

   “Open your eyes for me Pete? Come on, I know you can do it.”

   It was painfully slow, but he managed it, eyes glassy and unseeing, “that’s good Peter, that’s really good.”

   “My back,” he whimpered.

   Stephen went cold. He carefully placed himself at Peter’s head and slid trembling hands onto either side of his head, holding his neck still. Swallowing thickly, he looked at the Cloak which was vibrating in agitation, he nodded at it. It immediately started poking at Peter’s thigh, careful not to shift him but insistent enough it could be felt.

   “Pete,” Stephen began, looking down at his pale face and forcing a tight smile. “Do you think you can tell me what you feel? Anything sticking out?”

   “No, my back,” he whispered.

   “Your stomach? Your legs? Anything else I should know about?”

   His brow furrowed in concentration, “no.”

   Stephen stared at where the Cloak was still poking, increasingly hard. A sob worked its way up Stephen’s throat, but he swallowed it back before it could escape, he needed to act fast and he didn’t need Peter freaking out while he did it.

   “Ok, that’s fine. You’re going to be ok Peter.”

   Stephen nodded at the Cloak again, and without moving him it wrapped around his body, trying to warm his body as it began to shiver a bit, _shock_. He let go once he was sure Peter was secured, he slipped his phone from his pocket and speed dialed Christine, who answered immediately.

   “Hey there, don’t tell me you’re already cancelling-”

   “Which operating room is open?” he snapped.

   Silence for two beats, then, “number six is closed. Nobody will be there.”

   “Get there, its Peter,” he didn’t need to say more, she had already hung up.

   Stephen closed his eyes, imagined the layout of the hospital, identifying room six, checking for energy signatures that might suggest Christine had gotten it wrong. Nothing, he summoned a portal.

   The Cloak was already flying Peter through, held immobile by its embrace, and depositing him on the operating table, face down before it immediately began flitting about preparing. Stephen stepped through himself, he was shaking, he couldn’t be shaking and perform a surgery.

   “Stephen?”

   He went to his side, kneeled down to look at his wide, trusting eyes, crowded with pain, “its going to be ok Pete.”

   “I know,” he offered a weak smile.

   “I’m going to put you under alright? It’s a spell so you won’t feel a thing, I have to preform surgery on you’re back.”

   “Ok,” he whispered. There was a pause then his tears began to fill his eyes, spearing Stephen through the heart, “they broke it right? I can’t walk, I couldn’t feel my legs, that’s why you asked.”

   Stephen ran a soothing hand through his hair, “yeah Pete. But I’m going to do everything I can, I swear to you. I’m so sorry.”

   “Not your fault,” he murmured.

   Peter had never been more wrong, “I’ll talk to you soon, promise.”

   He didn’t wait for a reply, his fingers spasmed and his eyes fell closed. Stephen stood, took a step back and tried to breath. He was in a traditional operating room, the place that used to be like a second home to him. It was dark and material was carefully placed in preparation for the next surgery, well except the tools which needed to be sanitized. He summoned them wordlessly, changed Peter’s clothes, put scrubs on himself.

   The door flew open and Christine came rushing in, hair pulled back, hands clutching blood and IV bags. Something inside him released at the sight as she immediately went to work, and Stephen summoned the rest.

“What do we got?” she asked, and he had never been more grateful for her no-nonsense attitude.

   Stephen approached, tried to settle his mind, “his back was likely shattered under a concentrated impact. The spine will be in the process of healing itself but if we don’t get in there and manage it, his advanced healing will bring it together all wrong and we have to act fast if we don’t want him to become permanently disabled.

   To her credit, Christine just nodded. They were ready, all at once and she was handing him the knife while Stephen’s hands began to glow, keeping them still. She didn’t let go though, she stared over at him, eyes piercing, “are you good to manage this?”

   “We don’t have a choice,” was all he said. It was true, Peter couldn’t go into a normal surgery without his identity being revealed, something he would never be forgiven for.

   “I meant physically, you’re bleeding, and I can see how you’re holding yourself.”

   The adrenalin had been distracting him from the worst of the pain, from the awkward angle his pinky now hung at. Now that he assessed himself, the throbbing in his chest where the cracked rib may have very well become a break was getting worse. The scorching spams in his back weren’t getting any better either and he knew he had sustained a concussion at some point, but his vision was clear, and his mind wasn’t too unfocused. It would have to do.

   “We don’t have a choice, but you’re taking the lead.”

   She nodded and they got to work.

\---

   It took nearly three hours. Relatively short despite the complications that arise from a surgery involving not only Peter’s regenerative abilities but Stephen’s magic as well. When it was all over, Stephen felt dead inside, sickened and guilt ridden.

   He had failed.

   They salvaged what was left of his back, but it wasn’t enough. For now, his legs were still paralyzed and as Stephen stumbled out of the private intensive care recovery suitt he had transferred Peter into, his mind was reminding him that he would walk, he would be ok. It didn’t make it better, because that same brain was already mapping out the road to recovery, the brutal physical therapy, the possibility of subsequent surgeries, complications.

   He had failed because Peter wasn’t going to be Spider-Man anymore. Not for a long time and for him there would be no greater betrayal.

   Still, he wasn’t the least bit surprised when he found Wong sitting in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. Eyes closed, seemingly meditating but no doubt replaying everything that happened in the Sanctum. His eyes peeled back, and his usual stoic expression slipped into something sad and pitying. Which made him all the more grateful when he opened his mouth to speak, “you look like shit Strange.”

   He smiled weakly, “Peter is worse.”

   “Its not your fault,” the man stated immediately. Stephen ignored him, sitting down heavily in the chair.

   “He’s going to be paralyzed for at least eight months Wong.”

   “But not forever.”

   Stephen closed his eyes, a shooting pain sliced up his arm when he tried to clench the fist with the broken pinky, “well I guess that’s alright then,” he said stiffly.

   He heard the man sigh, “have you called Tony yet?”

   Stephen’s stomach turned while tears began to sting his closed eyes. He could already feel his breathing pick up as they squeezed tight. How did he tell Tony that a routine attack on the Sanctuary left Peter paralyzed, how does he explain that he let the man they’ve raised for years now have his back broken and then failed to fix it? Bad things happened in their professions but not to Peter, they were supposed to protect him, Stephen was supposed to keep him safe from magic and had failed. It suddenly seemed insurmountable, to face Tony now when just six hours ago they were chatting and Peter was planning an apartment and that project and it was all gone, all fucking gone because of him.

   A hand descended on his shoulder, rousing Stephen from the spiral sucking him under. He was exhausted and now that he was out of the surgery, he realized it wasn’t just physically and mentally, but magically as well. It was unsettling to be so completely empty, to be brought so low so quickly.

   “Strange, you’re hurt,” came Wong’s concerned voice.

   He shook off the hand, “I need to be with Peter.”

   Christine chose that inopportune time to come out of room, her gaze zeroing in on Stephen like a missile, “alright, its you’re turn.”

   Stephen began to protest only for it to be cut off by Wong, “let her help you Strange. I’ll call Tony, it’d be nice to tell him both of you are alive.”

   Christine was already wrapping her hands around his arm and tugging, but not before Wong managed to lean in close and whisper, “and we’ll discuss what the hell you did to those creatures after.”

   He let himself be brought to his feet and dragged toward her office, where she could examine him discreetly. Stephen didn’t look back at Wong, already painfully aware of the ever-widening hole in his chest, pulsing like a warning. He didn’t know what he did to the Agthra and truthfully, he didn’t care, they deserved it.

\---

   Stephen lay bare chested on Christine’s sofa, eyes flickering around her office as she ran cool hands over his stomach, pressed on his sides, listened to his heart. She had been gifted the office by Tony, who was a generous donator in return for the private room Peter was currently holed up in, not to mention privacy.

   “Christine, I’m fine. I should be with Peter.”

   She pressed soundly down on his chest making him hiss in pain. She slipped the stethoscope off her head and glared at him, “right two cracked ribs, an impressive array of bruising, one minor concussion, a dislocated pinky, and shoulder that wasn’t so far from following the pinky.” She smacked his stomach with the pad of paper lightly, “you’re perfectly fine, never seen you in better health.”

   “Peter-” Stephen gritted.

  “Is worse but he’s also fine. You, moping around in his room while he sleeps doesn’t help anyone. I’m not an idiot, you would happily sit their suffering as some misguided penance, luckily you have me, who is sick of all that bullshit.” She glared down at him. “So, do us both a favour, shut up, and sit quietly while I fix you.”

   He simply glared from his laying position which was hardly intimidating. She went to a small cabinet in the corner and when she turned back around Stephen grimaced, there was a splint in her hand. She came and knelt at his side, one hand out, waiting for Stephen.

   He looked away as he settled it in her firm but gentle grip, “alright, anything else I should know? Any mysterious injuries I should be checking for?”

   “No.”

   She huffed in a way that clearly conveyed her doubt, “what about you’re back and the concussion? How did you get those?”

   Stephen stared up at the ceiling, knew exactly what she was doing, he took a deep breath, “tossed through the banisTER- AGH.”

   He snatched his hand away, the finger now sitting relatively at ease in its socket, though it didn’t stop the painful aftershock reverberating through out the entire hand.

   “Yeah, yeah. Come on give it here, I need to put the splint on. Last thing we need is your hands getting worse.”

   Scowling Stephen returned it to her care, desperately trying to blink back his stinging eyes. He was so fucking exhausted, and this wasn’t helping in the slightest, that drained feeling only getting worse with each minute that passed.

   “Bannister huh? Straight down to the first floor?” she asked as she worked.

   “Yes,” he replied shortly.

   “That explains the shoulder too.”

   He didn’t answer, simply sat as still as possible so not to aggravate his other wounds. She worked in silence for several moments before stepping away, leaving Stephen to cradle his hand against his stomach. When she returned, she began studiously cleaning the array of scratched and the gash or two where wood dug in a little deeper on his side.

   “It wasn’t your fault.”

   He said nothing.

   She kept opened a bandage and placed it on the freshly cleaned wound, “the only person here that is going to blame you, is you. But doing so will hurt everyone, not just you.”

   “Didn’t know you were a shrink now,” he stated bitterly.

   He could sense her tensing, preparing to say something, when a buzzing from the desk interrupted them. Stephen didn’t remove his gaze from the ceiling as she stood to see who it was. He heard clicking and then the gentle tap of her putting the phone down, “it was Wong, Tony arrived ten minutes ago and wants to know where you are.”

   His eyes closed, guilt and disgust swirling like a storm inside him, “I guess its too much to ask you wait to tell him.”

   “Right. I already told him to meet us here. Stephen you’re going to need him, and he needs you.”

   Stephen finally tilted his head to the side to see her concerned gaze, “I’m the man who just paralyzed-”

   “Stop it,” she snapped. He went quiet, back to staring at the plain ceiling tiles. She sighed from where she leaned against her desk. “Listen Stephen, you’re still in shock. You are still acting distant like you do during surgeries, this hasn’t hit you yet and when it does, you’ll need Tony.”

   He didn’t grace that with an answer.

   “Not to mention right now, Tony needs his husband.”

   “I’m tired,” Stephen whispered. “I don’t want anyone to need me.”

   Christine was back at his side, running a hand through sweaty hair and staring down at him sadly, “I know, and honestly you deserve to sleep for a week. But Tony just found out both his husband and technically son were hurt, he _needs_ to see you.”

   There were two sharp taps at the door, drawing both their gazes. It was Tony, no doubt about it and Stephen’s eyes immediately began stinging, the urge to create a portal to flee, washing over him in a wave. Christine squeezed his shoulder, before crossing to the door, Stephen found himself turning his head, wincing as he did so, to stare out the window. He couldn’t bare to look at him.

   He heard the door creak open, heard Tony’s voice, hard and distressed, “where is here? Is he alright?”

   Christine’s own tone was gentle and soothing, the same one she used for grieving and irate family members, “he’s here Tony, he’ll be ok but-”

   “But what?” Tony cut her off and Stephen would have called out to ease the man’s fears if he wasn’t swimming in pool a dread at the moment.

   “He’s out of it. I’m pretty sure he is still in shock; the extent of Peter’s injury hasn’t hit him yet.”

   Stephen resented that even though he knew it was true.       

   “Let me see him,” the command, which it was, was softened by the undertone of pleading. God, he shouldn’t do that, not after how Stephen failed.

   There was no answer, but he heard the door swing open wider. Stephen clenched his eyes closed, resolutely keeping his head turned away. Perhaps it was childish, he was far, far too old not to face his problems head on, yet he couldn’t help himself. He could feel the tumultuous emotions rolling inside him, exhaustion and pain leaving him shaky and unstable.                        

   Footsteps, clearly Tony’s expensive shoes, tapped over the tiles, coming closer to Stephen’s side. Each one sent a spike of pain through is heart, he wanted the man to scream at him, yell and shout and demand to know why he failed. He wanted to be shoved and pushed and hit until he couldn’t tell dream from reality, he wanted to be made to pay for what he’d done.

   “Stephen? Are you awake?”

   That voice, so tender, tinged with the grief of a father and husband was a thousand times worse. Stephen felt the trembles go through is body, little spikes of pain in response. Suddenly he was shaking, tears snaking down his cheeks from beneath closed lids. Warm hands were on him, trying to turn his head, and fuck he couldn’t, he couldn’t do this.

   “Stephen look at me. Come on, look at me.”

   With a pained gasp he let himself be turned into Tony’s embrace, the man who was kneeling next to the couch, bending over his form as though he could somehow create a protective shield around them. Stephen’s face was buried in Tony’s chest, right where it didn’t belong, and he couldn’t stop the sobs.

   Tony was speaking, he knew he was, but he couldn’t hear him. Didn’t know if he could stand to. Stephen was selfish, it was perhaps his most defining feature, though he had always tried to improve, ever since the Ancient One, but just this once, he didn’t try, he simply allowed himself to be comforted by the man who should hate for what he had done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It begins....

**Author's Note:**

> I can't wait to hear what you guys think :)


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